


Something Fucky

by stilesstilinskixeveryone



Series: Steter Week 2018 [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fucking Witches, Gen or Pre-Slash, I guess?? like there's definitely something there but it's vague, M/M, Maybe one-sided too, Not A Fix-It, Pre-Slash, Steter Week, Steter Week 2018, Stiles Stilinski Is So Done, Stiles does not appreciate them, Time Travel, idk man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 03:38:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15452550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilesstilinskixeveryone/pseuds/stilesstilinskixeveryone
Summary: When something fucky happens and Stiles is sent back to pre-fire time he doesn't really do much other than bicker with Peter.





	Something Fucky

Stiles grumbled as he walked alone through the silent forest. It wasn't supposed to be silent. He wasn't supposed to be alone. But, for some magical bullshit reason, they were.

He kicked at a rock, sending it flying away with a satisfying noise.

He and the pack had been fighting a witch. Like, three minutes ago. It shouldn't be silent.

It had just been one witch, and she had only been sacrificing three animals every week, so they finally gave into Scott's plan of trying to talk to her.

Talking turned into fighting surprisingly quickly, but also not at all. He shouldn't be alone.

As soon as the witch laid eyes upon Stiles, she had begun her villain monologue. Turns out she had killed her last coven of witches to gain more power and was now looking to recruit some powerful magic users. Forcefully. She was not against using date rape drug magic. 

It sounded a little too much like Deucalion for any of the pack to be comfortable letting her go. So, despite Scott's shouting, they fought the witch. 

Why was it so silent?

The witch wasn't lying when she said she had gained the strength of her dead coven. They had fought witches before and they were often easy to deal with (assuming no one was cursed or poisoned), but this witch wasn't backing down at all.

Stiles had stepped up, cast a paralysing spell at the same time the witch cast a spell of her own. The last thing he remembered after that was flashing lights, then he was waking up on the forest floor.

Why was he alone?

He reached a clearing, still kicking a rock in front of him as he grumbled about witches and stupid fucking puppies and did they seriously deal with the witch and abandon him?

He looked up to take in his surroundings and froze. 

That was the Hale house.

Not a burnt husk but the actual fucking Hale house from before the fire. It had a roof and everything.

"Oh, God," he groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Fucking witch, what did she do?"

Any werewolf in the house was probably already aware that he was standing there. And would possibly be helpful in getting him back to where he was supposed to be. 

If they believed him, at least.

So, letting out a very exhausted sigh, he walked up to the front door and knocked.

A few moments later the door swung open to reveal a young man, probably sixteen, with dark hair and some of the grumpiest eyebrows he had ever seen. Second only to Derek. Which meant,

"You're Derek, right?"

The kid glared and asked, "What do you want?"

"I'm, uh," what did he want? "I'm looking for the alpha of the territory, which I presume is Talia?"

The kid's eyebrows shot up and his body tensed. For a moment he looked like he wasn't going to do anything, but then he was nodding and walking back into the house. Stiles figured he was probably supposed to follow.

It was almost surreal, no, it was very surreal to walk through the house. He almost expected to look into a room and see the usual charred nothingness, to look up and see blue sky, but no. The place was perfectly fine, and normal, and pretty fucking nice. Just expensive enough to be elegant and charming, but not too expensive looking to be posh and make him even more uncomfortable.

Young Derek, still broody and grumpy—now because of teen angst rather than guilt and grief—led Stiles up the stairs and to the right. He knocked on a door and, once a 'come in' sounded, opened it. He left before Stiles could walk in, probably off to write angsty poetry or whatever the kids did these days. Or back then. 

Shaking his head, Stiles got his thoughts back on track and entered the study looking room.

"Alpha Talia Hale?" he asked, tilting his head to the side as both a show of curiosity and submissiveness. 

"Yes, and who are you? How do you know Derek, but he doesn't know you?" The woman, Talia, was beautiful in the same way as Derek. Dark hair that framed her face, gorgeous eyes—even when they flared supernatural colours (or especially when), an intimidating amount of muscle and a raised eyebrow.

He took all of this in within a second and replied quickly, "My name's Stiles. I'll explain how I know Derek after I tell you why I'm here." 

It was times like these that made him thankful his legal name was such a mess that he could use his name and not worry about anyone searching him up and finding something. He didn’t know if this was just a back in time thing, or if it was dimensional too, so he had no way of knowing if his dad was in Beacon or not. Possibly even a little him running about, too. 

"Yes, why are you here?" Talia asked, raising an eyebrow. It made him wonder how many generations of Hale carried the eyebrow language trait.

"Well, the explanation for that is a bit weird and you're probably not gonna believe me but," he paused to take a steadying breath before continuing, "I come from like twelve years in the future."

Talia stared. Stared a little longer. Used a bit more eyebrow language to convey she thought he was crazy. "You expect me to believe you're from the future?"

"Is there anything I can do to help you believe?" he asked. "I know who your emissary is, if that might help? Maybe he can do some tests, too!"

"You know who my emissary is?" So much eyebrow was happening. "Please, do tell."

"It's Alan Deaton. Or at least it should be, I'm not really sure if any dimensional travelling has happened or if it's just time travel." His hands were flying everywhere. 

The eyebrow language paused as Talia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Okay, so you know a well-guarded secret of ours. How nice. Yes, we best go see Deaton to try and prove your theory."

Stiles grinned, success! "Oh, also," he wasn't going to mention it, but thought it might be fun and also didn't have any brain-to-mouth filter, "is Peter listening in on our conversation from behind the door?"

Talia just heaved a sigh in response. 

~

Talia was driving, her husband as right hand in shotgun, Peter as left hand behind him and Stiles as person of interest behind Talia. It wasn't ideal but, really, nothing about the situation was ideal. At least no one had to sit in the middle.

"So, if you've lived in Beacon your whole life, does that mean there's a younger version of you currently running about? What happens if you meet him?" Peter asked, body turned towards Stiles as much as possible without taking off the seatbelt. 

"If this isn't some alternate universe where I don't exist then yes. And I don't wanna know," Stiles said, frowning at all the ideas of how terribly that could go. 

"How old are you?" 

"How old are you?" Stiles countered, raising an eyebrow that rivalled a Hale's.

"That is a really childish way to avoid a question." 

"In about seven years I'm gonna ask you the same question and your answer is going to be even more childish than mine, dude." No, Stiles wasn't still frustrated by Peter's vague answer. How could anyone possibly entertain the idea?

Peter looked surprisingly offended by the response, "Are you holding what future me does against me?"

"Yes, yes, I am. It's what future you deserves." Stiles nodded to himself.

Peter looked like he was going to refute that, but paused, squinted at Stiles, then asked, "How exactly did you travel through time?"

"I'm honestly not too sure," he said with a scrunched nose, "I was fighting this witch in the preserve with my pack and we casted spells at the same time. Next thing I know I'm waking up, sans pack, and the Hale- and Derek's fucking sixteen again." 

Almost blurting out the fact that the Hale house is a burnt husk in his time? Not a good idea.

"So, what, your spells interacted weirdly, and it sent you back?"

"Yeah, that's the best I've got so far. It's also possible we were too close to the Nemeton and it decided to do something fucky." Stiles shrugged. 

They continued on like that for the rest of the car ride, bickering and asking questions, trying to annoy Talia so much that she cracked. Even once Deaton had confirmed Stiles' story and started on preparing a ritual to get Stiles back to his own time, he and Peter were constantly talking.

By the time Deaton was done and had gotten him back to his own time, he was a lot more enlightened on how the Hales used to be, and Peter was a little bit in love.

He wouldn't remember it though.

~

It was strange. Almost as if he had met the boy before, but the memory was just out of reach, his fingertips just brushing the image. 

He recognised the scent. It was different, less ozone and the crackling of magic and power, definitely different emotions splicing through. It was the same though, a tang of medication settled underneath fresh baked cookies and old books and stress.

The boy looked different too. Even though he couldn't remember what he was supposed to look like, he just looked _different_. Like he wasn't quite there yet.

Then it clicked.

"You must be Stiles."

**Author's Note:**

> Idek what this is. I got writers block like right in the middle of writing this but I wanted something finished so... Ta da!
> 
> Maybe check out some of my better stories, then hit me up on my tumblr @stilesxeveryone, it's always open to requests.
> 
> Also! I did a day 5 but it's art so I haven't posted it on ao3! Check it out @fernfieldart!


End file.
